


Out of the Shadows of War

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Secret Snarry Swap 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8891938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: After an almost-kiss with Severus Snape and discovering his newly acquired magical prowess, Harry doesn't feel like he fits in anywhere. With memories of the war still fresh on his mind a year later, he decides to pay a visit to the one person he can’t seem to shake from his thoughts no matter how hard he tries.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the OP for this wonderfully inspiring prompt of _I've lived my whole life at war; all I know is war. How can I live at peace?_ I hope you enjoy what I did with it. Thank you, as ever, to the moderators for keeping the Snarry fire burning and for all of their hard work running this fest and the community. Thanks to A and Badgerlady for the proof reading. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Written for Prompt #19 from Amanitamuscaria: I've lived my whole life at war; all I know is war. How can I live at peace?

**Hogwarts, Post-War**

 

Harry knocks on the door to Snape’s office, his hands surprisingly clammy and his heart pounding. He spent hours walking around Hogwarts grounds, the brisk winter air making his cheeks flush and his fingers icy. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing here – skulking around the dungeons and pacing back and forth before finally taking the decision to knock on Snape’s door. 

“Enter.”

“Hi, Professor.” Harry steps inside and closes the door behind him, wincing at the flicker of surprise and displeasure which crosses Snape’s features. The room is bare and empty, potions bottles and books piled neatly in carefully labelled boxes. Aside from the scattered boxes and the imposing mahogany desk covered with quills, ink bottles and haphazard pieces of parchment, the only reminder of Snape that hasn’t been packaged up is a solitary pair of robes hanging from a closed door leading into his private quarters. Snape looks up from his place at the desk and his eyebrow arches, a modicum of surprise passing over his features before it disappears entirely.

“Potter.” Snape huffs and puts his quill back into the inkwell, sitting back in his chair and contemplating Harry with a sneer. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“It’s your last day,” Harry offers. He curses himself. What is it about Snape that makes him so wrong-footed all the time? He’s not usually so unsure of himself. He doesn’t even know why saying goodbye to Snape seemed so important a few minutes ago. Snape _hates_ him and he hates Snape. Or he thought he did. Now it’s more of a dull ache which worms its way through his chest and settles there uncomfortably – the heavy weight of something akin to grief. 

“I’m aware of that.” Snape stands and begins to busy himself shuffling his parchment with his head bowed. “That still doesn’t explain why you are here.”

“I wanted to say goodbye.” Harry shrugs, resisting the urge to go over and make Snape look at him. The knot in his stomach becomes a strange flicker of warmth, a spark of annoyance which he hasn’t felt since the war. He hasn’t felt much since the war, honestly. After the initial relief of being _free_ , the extent of the death toll became clear and left Harry numb and stagnant, walking through his final exams and Ministry work as if in some kind of daydream or nightmare. He feels disconnected from himself – as if everything is happening to someone else and he’s just an observer of a life he no longer recognises. There’s no clear path for him now. The comfort of Hogwarts has been ripped away with brutal cruelty. The Great Hall no longer reminds him of pumpkin juice and treacle tart. Instead of lavish piles of food, all he sees now is row after row of bodies. He can still feel Ron’s tears against his neck – warm and wet. He can hear Molly’s sobs and can remember the cold, lifeless touch of Remus’ hand which he held onto for over an hour before somebody pulled him away. Even the grounds remind him of battle. The night sky filled with stars has a strange, poignant sort of beauty to it. The air reeks of death and decay and even a slug of Firewhisky only burns momentarily before everything goes numb again. Harry doesn’t know how to live without war. Born out of war and catapulted back into it from a young age, he’s had his whole life shaped by the knowledge he’s probably not going to live beyond his teen years. Being free only works if you know how to do it. 

He moves closer to Snape and pulls a tattered gift from his robes. The edges of the paper are crumpled and the book he so carefully selected is wrapped with no finesse. It seems ridiculous now, giving Snape something so trite after everything. 

“I got you something. A goodbye present.” Snape’s head lifts, his eyebrows rising. His lips purse in a thin line and he studies Harry. There’s something unreadable in his dark contemplation and Harry shivers under the intensity of his gaze. He nudges the messily wrapped gift into Snape’s hand. “Just take it, will you.”

“I…” Snape looks at the present, his throat working. He plucks at the silver bow and unfurls the paper, his fingers long and dextrous. They’re so sure. Harry’s throat goes dry as he watches the nimble movements and focuses on an irregular spot of ink between Snape’s thumb and forefinger. He lifts his hand to his lips and bites at his thumbnail, coarse and chewed down to nothing. He can’t quite meet Snape’s eyes and focuses instead on his hands as he turns the book over, studying its spine and sturdy leather binding. “Thank you. This is…unexpectedly thoughtful.”

“It’s fine. It’s not much.” Harry pulls a face, finally meeting Snape’s piercing stare. “Hermione said it’s new, I thought you might not have had time to get a copy with…everything.” He waves a hand, vaguely.

Snape snorts. “If by _everything_ you mean nearly dying and saving your hide from the Dark Lord, you’re quite right. I’ve had precious little time for purchasing books.”

“Well, then.” Harry bristles but he tries not to argue. He doesn’t want to fight with Snape. At least he doesn’t think he does. Part of him _does_ want to feel that fiery rage again. He just wants to care enough about _something_ to yell and scream and cast violent spells. Perhaps he does want another war, after all. 

“Was there anything further?” Snape sounds a little faint, his eyes flicking to the book again as he places it carefully on the desk. His fingers linger on the cover, smoothing over the leather binding as if the feel of a new book against his skin soothes him. Perhaps it does. Harry can imagine Snape getting a bit like that over books and potions ingredients – just like Harry gets when a new broom is released or he holds a Snitch in the palm of his hand.

“No, I suppose not.” Harry doesn’t leave. He stands uselessly, his hands hanging by his sides and clenching and unclenching into fists. He’s not sure what he expected. Snape to offer him hot chocolate and for the two to chat as if they’re old friends? Perhaps he expected Snape to talk to him about his mum or yell at him or something. Anything would be better than this forced, stilted dialogue and overwhelming sense of uncertainty.

“Potter.” Snape’s voice is a low growl. Harry has the strangest urge to bury his face in Snape’s robes and _Christ_ where did that thought come from? Snape glares imperiously down his nose, surveying Harry with barely concealed disdain. His lips curve into a sneer and he folds his arms in a slow motion, seemingly designed to draw out his contempt for Harry for as long as possible. “What on earth is the matter with you, you little twit? I’ve rarely seen you so subdued.” His eyes glint strangely. “Has all your Gryffindor fight disappeared?”

The flicker of annoyance sparks a fire in Harry’s belly and he finds a familiar anger rolling through him. Why can’t Snape just act normally for once and make a bit of small talk instead of chasing Harry out of his rooms or insulting him?

“I’ve had a bit on my mind, with all the dying and stuff.” Harry curls his hands into fists and he glares at Snape. “I’m not really in the mood for fighting or being rude to you. I only came to say goodbye and bring you a present. Don’t start.” He knows he’s being rude and he cringes a little at the petulant note which makes him sound like the angry teenager who seems like a different person, these days. 

Snape gives Harry a thoroughly unimpressed look. “I might have known you would choose to wallow in self-pity as opposed to doing anything useful. Is that why you’re here, bearing gifts? A thinly veiled attempt to assuage your own guilt, perhaps?”

“Why the fuck should I feel _guilty_?” Harry’s actually trembling now, his words coming out more loudly than he’d intended. He should have just stayed outside in the cold. It was a mistake, trying to see Snape off with a handshake after so many years of animosity. He might have known it would be like this.

“Language, Potter.” Snape’s voice is smooth and cold, his implacable expression giving nothing away. “Perhaps you feel guilty because you were quite content to let me die? Because after violating my memories you then made no effort to retrieve my body. If it hadn’t been for Albus’ blasted bird and my own ingenuity I am certain I would have perished alone, bleeding out onto the floor while you danced away your victory with your little cohorts.”

The anger bleeds out of Harry in unruly sparks of magic which make a nearby box of bottles shake. He can hardly speak as the fury flares through him, making his whole body hot. “You gave me your memories! I didn’t violate anything, you bloody _arse_. You think I was dancing, do you? I suppose you reckon I toasted Ron and Hermione with a pint of Butterbeer over Fred’s dead body? Or maybe we put on some music and danced around Remus and Tonks like they were Muggle handbags or something? People _died_ , you pillock. I wasn’t dancing, I was grieving.”

“Wallowing in self-pity, more like.” Snape looks haughty, his expression unreadable. A heat flashes behind his eyes and then it disappears. “Spoiled brat that you are.”

“You still think that?” A gurgle of laughter forces its way out of Harry’s parted lips. Snape makes him so furious he can’t control his reactions anymore. The disappointment at realising Snape still sees him as his rich, privileged dad just adds fuel to the flames of anger and grief welling within Harry. The strange, almost uncontrollable magic which has bubbled and sparked within him since the war almost bursts from him in violent rage, his head throbbing and his hand itching to reach for his wand so he can cast spells – any spells – just to feel again. “You still think I’m like him, after everything? Maybe he was right about you all the time, talk about wallowing in self-pity. We’ve been restoring the magic in the castle brick by brick and you’ve just hidden down here with your _potions_ and your bloody _books_ when you could have helped. You could have HELPED!” Harry’s grief and rage pours from his, the magic quivering through his body. He barely manages to step back when Snape advances towards him, gripping him by the scruff of his misshapen jumper. 

When Snape shoves Harry against the wall, the look on his face makes Harry shiver. His eyes are wild, his skin pale and his lips twisted in a snarl of hatred. There’s something so raw in his expression, it makes Harry nervous and a little bit desperate. He responds the only way he knows how, gripping onto Snape’s shirt and pushing him away. At least, he intends to. Instead of shoving Snape back, his fists clutch onto the cotton and he hauls Snape closer until he can smell the light scent of coffee on Snape’s breath and feel the heat of his body. Harry hasn’t been this close to anyone like Snape before. The soft curves of Ginny’s body and the warm, sweet scent of Cho’s hair fly from Harry’s mind to be replaced by a hard, angular body and firm hands with long, slender fingers. Harry’s throat works as Snape moves closer and there’s something primal and urgent in the depths of his eyes that Harry doesn’t quite understand. It’s almost as if…as if Snape’s about to _kiss him_. 

Harry’s horrified to find himself reacting to that thought and their unexpected proximity. The growl from Snape’s lips makes him shiver and they’re so close there’s no way of missing the growing hardness in his trousers or the way his exhale shakes from between his lips, or the way his body trembles with arousal. Pressed up against a wall with the sinuous pleasure of Snape’s body against his own, heat floods Harry’s cheeks and he barely stifles a groan. He sees it, the moment Snape understands Harry’s reaction. His eyes widen and pink spots rise in his sallow cheeks. His lips twist in a strange fashion. His eyebrows knit and then he’s pushing Harry back, stalking away from him with his shoulders rigid and his back to Harry.

“Get away from me.”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Part of him wants to reach out to Snape to attempt to salvage something from his disastrous attempt to make peace. His own mortification and confusion is too great to bear, however. He pushes himself off the wall and straightens his jumper, throwing Snape a futile glare which goes completely unregistered.

“Fine!” 

If Snape hears Harry speak, he doesn’t acknowledge it. His shoulders tight, he stays motionless – his thin fingers white as they grip his desk. Harry studies him for one moment, taking in the wiry strength of Snape’s slender form and the way his ink-black hair curls at the nape of his neck. A strange kind of grief returns and pools in the depths of his belly, making his throat dry and tight. He swallows back a wave of reckless emotion before it gets him into even more trouble. He can’t find Snape attractive. He  _can’t_. Snape’s ugly and hateful and, most important of all, he can’t stand Harry.

Harry draws an untidy breath and clutches his wand to stop the trembling in his hand. He mutters a spell, spittle flying from his lips and the door to Snape’s room almost flying off its hinges at it swings open with a violence that takes Harry by surprise. He nearly runs from the room in a whirl of righteous indignation as he tells himself firmly _this is the end_. He’s done with Snape. He’s finished with trying to make friends with someone who hates him. He tries to swallow back the flare of warmth which still travels through his veins and the taste of Snape’s power and magic on his lips.

The door closes behind him with a slam and Harry doesn’t look back, racing through the cold corridors until the sharp winter air assaults his lungs and he can finally breathe again.

“That went well.” He draws in a shaky breath and tries to still his trembling hands, his lungs burning as he catches his breath, nearly bent double. His hands on his knees and his eyes closed, he swallows and tries to chase away the hot, desperate tears as they pour down his cheeks. 

He wipes his cheeks angrily and takes another breath, the outpouring of anger and emotion slowly replaced by the familiar, numb ache in his heart.

He looks back, once, but Snape’s nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll never see him again,” Harry says to the wind, trees and empty grounds. 

He ignores the flash of pain which courses through him at the words and Summons his broom. He’ll fly. That’s the way to forget about Snape and his musty potions and dark room. He’ll _fly_.

He’ll be fine. Really, he will.

*

**One year later**

The little shop is almost obscured by the two larger buildings which flank it on either side. It’s a strange addition to the narrow alley, filled with more modern architecture. It’s reminiscent of a different era, with its white and black panelling and its edges curved with age and time. The windows are thick with dust and a few ominously large tomes sit in haphazard display on grimy shelves. The shop has none of the usual welcoming signage, encouraging the tired shopper to come and sample its wares. Instead there’s a simple chalk sign which suggests that browsing is not welcome, directing shoppers to Madame Puddifoots if they’re looking for _romance and coffee_. Harry grins at the lettering and imagines Snape glaring at people for selecting the latest best seller instead of a dusty old thesis on obscure potions. It’s almost as if the owner doesn’t want people to come into the shop which, knowing Snape, he probably doesn’t. With a brief moment of glee, Harry wonders what Snape would say if he asked for Malfoy’s ludicrously popular copy of _Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me_ , the newest instalment in his Auror Scorpius Jacques series. He’d probably have a fit.

His hands clammy, Harry wipes them on his jeans before pushing open the door. He’s reminded of that fateful visit to Snape before he left Hogwarts – the same clammy hands and nervous excitement pooling in his gut. He shakes away the memory as best he can because he’s determined this time is going to be different. The doorbell rings and even that sounds a bit cross, as if it was quite happy to spend the remainder of the day undisturbed. The shelves are full with a curious mix of books and potions paraphernalia and the till is unoccupied save for a little, dusty bell which sits on the counter. Harry taps the heel of his palm against it a couple of times just for good measure.

“I heard you the first time. You can stop that infernal racket before I-” Snape breaks off when his eyes connect with Harry’s. He’s different and yet, somehow, exactly the same. He wears his robes fastidiously buttoned to the neck and he appears as dark and imposing as ever. His lips twist into an unpleasant scowl and his face looks pale and sallow, his nose hooked and his long fingers stained with ink.

“Am I currently in the midst of an unpleasant dream?” Snape glares, folding his arms across his chest and in an unsteady rush the years in musty potions classrooms assault Harry’s senses. The taste of Cruciatus is sharp and unpleasant on his tongue and his breath steals from his lungs, his words caught in his throat. It’s been well over a year since he’s seen Snape. As antisocial as ever, Snape avoids Ministry events and neglected to turn up to his own award ceremony for services to the Ministry during the war. Harry’s memories flood with the image of Snape sneering at him, the scream of _DON’T CALL ME A COWARD_ and the invasive push of the fingers of Severus’ magic rummaging through his private memories. The final memory which springs forth is the one of Snape’s body – firm and hard against his own – and the inconvenient and unexpected flash of heat and desire which travelled through Harry’s body. The moments crash over him in waves and he finds it all too difficult to stand, Snape’s warm, _alive_ bodily form almost unexpected after all of this time. Harry takes a breath which shudders through him and he gathers himself as best he can.

“I’m here about the job.” It sounds foolish now, the words small and uncertain with the air in the room simmering with tension. Snape’s eyebrow lifts and his lips press together in a thin line, his eyes flashing.

“I’m expected to believe the great Harry Potter wishes to spend his weekends working in a bookstore? Or perhaps this is simply your first appointment as a Ministry employee – tasked with ensuring former Death Eaters are toeing the line?”

“It’s not like that.” Harry rakes a hand through his hair, his voice coming back to him. Snape’s such an _arse_. Night after night of insomnia, a rushed resignation letter to Kingsley and a deep knot of grief which never quite unfurls culminated in this. No matter how hard he tries to push thoughts of Snape to one side, everything comes back to him in the end. It’s important. Harry doesn’t know _how_ or _why_ , he just knows it matters. Somehow, it matters. _Snape_ matters. That’s why he’s standing in a musty old book shop looking like a pillock, asking to be considered for a job which pays a pittance that he’s not even particularly interested in. Not for the first time since the war, Harry wonders if he didn’t lose a few marbles while he was saving the world. “I’m not with the Ministry anymore.”

Snape snorts and a flicker of surprise crosses his features, disappearing as quickly as it came. He begins to organise the papers on the counter, not looking at Harry. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here, of all places.”

“I’m not sure I can explain it either.” Harry watches Snape as he busies himself with anything other than paying attention to Harry. “I just thought it might help us both to put the past behind us. I’ve got free time on my hands and you need help. Why not from me?”

Snape stares at Harry. “I can think of a hundred different answers to that question and if you can’t see the folly in your proposal you are even more foolish than I believed.”

Harry bristles and he gives Snape a look. “I work hard and I’m available. We could ‘bury old animosities’ or whatever it is those Ministry leaflets are telling people to do these days.”

“The only thing I am likely to bury is you.” Snape rolls his eyes. “You have woefully little knowledge of the market-”

“I’ve done some research, actually.” Harry thanks the stars for Hermione, not for the first time. “I wouldn’t come to a job interview unprepared.”

Snape glares. “Name three contemporary potions academics and if you mention Bagman I will throw you out on your ear.”

“Pirellius Gumpton, Lucy Scamander and Severus Snape.” Harry grins at Snape, who looks both stunned and mildly flattered. “F. R. Barthes is another, if you don’t count.”

“Of course I count, you ill-mannered child,” Snape snaps. He huffs and hands Harry a ludicrously thick book, covered in dust. “Without looking inside, tell me what the author of this book is concerned with.”

Harry looks at the cover, pulling a face. The thesis title is, as usual, almost incomprehensible and contains at least three words Harry doesn’t understand. He looks at the name of the author and racks his brains. This bloke was definitely on one of Hermione’s exams. Even when she expressed concern over Harry’s determination to work for Snape, the lure of helping Harry study and writing her own exam questions proved too great in the end. Harry loves Hermione, he really does. 

“Rudolf Fletcher.” Harry reads the name out loud, largely to buy himself a little time to rummage through the ridiculous amount of information Hermione made him retain. The bloke with the thing about chopping. Harry remembers now. He hands the book back to Snape, trying not to sound smug. “I’m not sure why they couldn’t just call it _Chopping Flobberworms_ but it’s about whether the slicing of potions ingredients in perpendicular lines enhances their magical properties.”

Snape purses his lips and gives Harry a look of sceptical astonishment. “In a manner of speaking. And Fletcher’s conclusion?”

“Doesn’t make a blind bit of difference.” Harry shrugs. “Seems a bit of a waste of time writing eighty thousand words about something that doesn’t matter, if you ask me. Have I got the job, then?”

Snape mutters something impolite under his breath. “You can have a trial. If you manage not to chase off my customers with your wilful ignorance and put your back into the task of cleaning the shop front, I will revisit your application.” 

“Can I use magic to clean?” Harry asks, hopefully.

Snape shakes his head. “Out of the question. I don’t want your prolonged use of magic interfering with the delicate brewing process I undertake during the day. Everything in this shop is finely attuned to my magical signature. If you so much as _Accio_ , I will know immediately. I have a bucket, a mop and a scrubbing brush. I’m sure you’re familiar with Muggle cleaning products?”

Harry pulls a face, thinking of the countless times he had his head down the loo at Privet Drive. “Perfectly familiar, ta.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, watching Snape. “Anything else?”

Snape’s lips curve into an unpleasant smile. “There’s the small matter of the application form.”

“What bloody form?” Harry glares at Snape and pulls a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket. “Enquire within, it says. Nothing about any form.”

“It would be remiss of me to hire somebody without thoroughly checking their credentials.” Something in the smooth, silky way Snape says that makes Harry’s cheeks suddenly hot. He clears his throat and hopes Snape doesn’t notice. “Three rolls of parchment by Saturday, Potter. I want a personal statement explaining precisely why you, a potions dunderhead, should be allowed within six feet of my shop.” Snape brushes some dust from his robes. “You would be well advised to highlight your significant failings and explain the number of things you can learn from me if you listen properly, for once in your life.”

“Like you don’t have any _significant failings_ of your own,” Harry mutters. He grits his teeth to stop himself from saying anything too offensive out loud. “Fine, have it your way. Does everyone have to do this, or is it just me?”

“You are currently the only applicant.” Snape scribbles a couple of quick notes with his quill before handing Harry a piece of paper. “Something I sincerely hope for both our sakes changes soon.”

“You can’t just fire me if someone better comes along.” Harry looks at the note, taking in Snape’s familiar spidery hand. “Six in the morning? The advert said this job was nine to five. The shop doesn’t even open until ten on the weekends.”

“All the more reason to get you started early. We can’t have you cluttering up the place when customers want to go about their business in peace.” Snape pauses. “You can bring me a Muggle coffee when you arrive. I would be grateful if you could refrain from speaking to me until I have finished it.”

Harry snorts and stuffs the parchment into his pocket, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at Snape. “Fine.” He’s tempted to get Snape a caramel cappuccino just to see the expression on his face. “I’ll be off then.”

“Fine.” Snape turns his back on Harry, an obvious dismissal. Harry’s got his hand on the door when he hears Snape clear his throat. “Potter?”

“Yeah?” Harry turns and is confronted by Snape watching him intently, a peculiar look in his dark eyes. “What?”

“Do try to sleep before Saturday. You look appalling.”

A sharp pain lodges itself in Harry’s chest and he tries to muster a smile, failing miserably. He stares at Snape for one charged moment and then nods, not quite trusting himself to speak.

Once outside he breathes in the cool winter air and tries to settle the reckless pounding of his heart.

Saturday it is, then.

*

“He actually gave you the job?” Ron looks suspicious and Hermione’s frowning at Harry.

“I know you did a lot of work, Harry but… _really_?”

“Perhaps he sees untapped potential.” Harry’s feeling pretty pleased with himself, three pints in, and he laughs when he sees the look Ron and Hermione exchange. “Oh, relax. I know he doesn’t. I think he’s just looking forward to bossing me about and making my life miserable. Besides, he’s not got any better offers and the advert’s been in the _Prophet_ for weeks.”

“Still.” Ron pulls a face. “It’s a bit weird, all of this. Are you sure you’re alright, mate?”

“Couldn’t be better.” Harry shrugs, because for the first time in ages it’s actually true. He’s not sure what it is about Snape but there’s been this sense of unfinished business niggling at him since the war. He’s just got this feeling that Snape might understand the insomnia and being plagued by bad dreams. He doesn’t talk about it much to anyone but when he does, it’s in the darkness of his room and it’s always whispers to the ghosts of the dead. In the pub, with everything so light, bright and cheerful, he can’t bring the mood down talking about waking up with the memory of pain in his scar flaring in his forehead. He can’t really explain how every flash of the camera when he’s trying to just enjoy himself sends him into a state of panic. He’s spent so long wanting to be normal he can’t quite bring himself to explain that he doesn’t know how. He thought he’d figure it out, eventually, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how not to be at war or how not to think about the final battle, when the stars above Hogwarts were obscured by wispy green skulls and the spells from hundreds of different wands. He can’t explain how often he remembers the fallen and how, sometimes, the walls of Grimmauld Place close in on him until he forgets how to breathe. Sometimes his magic feels off-kilter, as if he’s been forced to suppress it for too long. There’s a latent power beneath the surface which came to being after the war and it makes Harry fearful of his own potential. He tries to keep it contained as he casts listless spells and, because he’s still not a bookworm, he makes enough mistakes to simply be on par with his peers. He’s content with that. The last thing he needs is some weird magical power for everyone to get their knickers in a twist over. He hasn’t spoken about those fears to anyone.

Harry doesn’t know why he’s been so fixated on Snape since that one terrible moment at Hogwarts. Like the numbness and grief, his obsession, he assumed, would ease with time. After well over a year, the need to spend time with Snape has increased rather than dissipated. So many of his dreams these days involve footsteps on stone flooring and the creak of the door to Snape’s quarters. The once unpleasant scent of potions which filled Harry’s senses when he was in the small shop has gone from a bad memory to something comforting and familiar. As much as he hates to admit it, there’s something about conjuring up old memories of Snape’s barbed comments and acidic tongue that makes him feel safe in a way nothing else can. 

“You might have been better asking him for a coffee.” Hermione looks doubtful. “I’m not sure he’ll be very nice to you, Harry.”

The thought sends a peculiar spark through Harry and he nods. It’s almost as if he wants Snape to be unpleasant, as if that might restore some sort of balance to his life. “I know. I don’t think we’re going to be best mates or anything, I just want to get to know him a bit better. He loved my mum, after all. He did so much during the war to keep me alive because of her.” 

“Do you reckon they were…you know?” Ron waves his hand and looks a bit revolted.

“Dunno.” Harry shouldn’t care what they were but a peculiar part of him hopes not. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

Hermione sighs. “Be careful. I’m not sure he’s going to willingly talk to you about the past. You might not get anything from him. That kind of question is very personal and Professor Snape doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to talk about his emotions very much.”

“It’s fine, Hermione. Stop worrying. I can look after myself.” Harry’s rather relieved Hermione can’t read his mind or see the number of times his dreams of being pressed up against the wall by Snape have taken an altogether different and more alarming turn. He’s not even sure he knows what it means himself, yet. He just needs time. Time with Snape. Some sort of closure, maybe? Yeah. Closure. That’s exactly what he needs.

“Ginny was asking after you.” Ron gives Harry a look, changing the subject swiftly.

“She was?” Harry tries hard not to pull a face because he’s fairly certain that would go down badly. Ginny’s just another reminder of how strange he feels at the moment. The kisses which were once firewhisky hot left him cold in the end and he couldn’t respond to her in the way he wanted to. She deserves better than Harry can give, which was one of the reasons he had to nip things in the bud before they got too serious. “How’s she getting on?”

“Fine.” Ron toys with his beermat. “She misses you, I reckon.”

“I miss her too.” Harry isn’t sure that’s strictly true. He misses Ginny’s wide smile, sharp sense of humour and friendship. He doesn’t miss the awkward kisses and the shoot of doubt and uncertainty which flowered within him whenever they had time alone. “Not like that,” he adds. Just in case Ron and Hermione start matchmaking. “I’m not…” He’s not sure what he’s _not_. Not normal? Not able to love someone else at the moment? Not capable of getting a hard on after a couple of hours of exchanging kisses, apparently. He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence without Hermione’s forehead crinkling and Ron looking aghast. There’s only so much information he’s willing to share with his friends. Horcruxes are one thing. Erections and your best mate’s sister is a whole different basket of kneazles.

“Don’t worry.” Hermione gives Ron a sharp look and then turns her gaze on Harry, clearly pondering something. “Ginny’s fine. She knows you’re not ready for anything serious at the moment and it would have been far worse to string her along indefinitely. You did the right thing, being honest.”

“Did I?” Harry feels miserable all of a sudden. He’s not sure how honest he’s being with anyone at the moment. A flash of Snape’s curt expression and the musky scent of dust and cinnamon fills his senses and a desperate need crawls through his veins. What is it with Snape and his unshakable place in the darkest corners of Harry’s mind?

“Yeah, you did.” Ron shoots Harry a smile which means he’s forgiven for being an emotional fuck up and everything’s warm again. 

Harry drains his lager. “Another?”

“Yeah.” Ron shakes his head. “Still think you’re barmy, going to work for Snape.”

Harry takes the empty glasses and responds with a grin. He doesn’t tell them he sometimes thinks that maybe he is, a bit. 

He’s not sure that would go down well at all.

*

Harry pushes open the door to the small shop, struggling with his two large cups of coffee. “Professor?”

“What did I tell you?” Snape greets Harry with a fierce glare. He’s unrobed, dressed in slim black cotton trousers and a white shirt. It’s startling seeing Snape in Muggle clothes again and Harry nearly drops the precariously balanced coffees.

“Not to talk to you until you’d had coffee?” Harry sets the coffee down as quickly as he can before he spills it all over himself. “I got you a muffin too. Blueberry.”

Snape eyes the two bags disdainfully, sniffing at Harry’s drink with trepidation and pulling a face. “That’s not coffee.”

“Nope. Hot chocolate. That’s mine.”

“Of course.” Snape rolls his eyes and takes his coffee. He appraises Harry through slanted eyes. “You’re still talking.”

The _sorry_ is on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but he stops himself just in time. Instead he takes his hot chocolate and the muffin he got for himself, dragging the Muggle cleaning implements towards the window. When he casts a tentative look back towards the counter, Snape’s disappeared into the back room with his coffee and muffin without a murmur of thanks.

“You’re welcome,” Harry mutters. He huffs and then gets to work. He’s got the feeling it’s going to be a long day.

*

Harry’s back aches and it feels as though he’s been scrubbing the windows with his bare fingers by the time Snape finally resurfaces to turn the shop’s sign from _closed_ to _open_. He peers over Harry’s shoulder, looking at the window closely as if he expects to find a smudge of dirt somewhere. Harry holds his breath, Snape’s proximity stirring a strange feeling in his stomach. Snape’s breath is warm on Harry’s cheek and his hum of reluctant satisfaction is like a purr in Harry’s ear.

“Acceptable.”

From Snape, it’s practically effusive. Harry sits back, turning a little out of the space occupied by Snape’s warmth so he can watch him properly. The robes are back on, buttoned up to the neck and long and intimidating. 

“Thanks. Ready for the morning rush, do you think?”

Snape _humphs_ at the humour in Harry’s tone. “Cheeky little sod.”

Harry can’t help but grin. He pushes himself off the ledge and stretches, fighting back a yawn. His bones ache in places he didn’t know bones could ache. “Do you want me to grab us any more coffee?”

Snape arches an eyebrow, smirking. “Trying to escape so soon, Potter?”

Harry snorts. “Hardly. That’s a no, then?”

“I have perfectly adequate brewing facilities in my quarters.” Snape studies Harry. “If you can promise not to cause too much trouble, I might even be convinced to make a cup of tea.”

Harry’s mouth waters. The thought of a cold glass of water and hot, sweet tea sounds all too appealing. “I’d love some water. Tea wouldn’t be bad, either.”

Snape watches Harry for a moment, a strange expression flickering across his face, and then he swoops out of the room.

Harry fights back a smile when Snape returns with tea, water and some sandwiches and biscuits. The mug is plain and chipped at the edge of the rim, but Harry doesn’t care. Without even asking, Snape seems to have guessed Harry’s preference for sweet tea and the liquid is calm and soothing, with his lungs so full of dust and the clinical bite of Muggle cleaning products. Even though it’s only ten o’clock, Harry’s ravenous and the ham sandwiches are delicious with thick, salty gammon and spicy mustard. He tucks in with such fervour, he’s on his second jammie dodger before it occurs to him the food might have been to share. He looks up at Snape, who’s watching him eat with an odd expression on his face.

“Sorry, I err, I don’t usually eat this much.” Heat floods in Harry’s cheeks and he nudges the plate with a few crusts and a lone biscuit towards Snape. “Did you want any?”

Snape raises an eyebrow at Harry, his lips twitching into an almost smile. “Your crusts don’t look terribly appealing.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry gives Snape a sheepish smile. “The sandwiches were great.”

Snape makes a noncommittal sound in response but he looks pleased. “Not to worry, they were all yours. I’ll make some later for myself.”

“Oh. Good.” Harry drinks the remainder of his tea and it’s like magic against his throat, warm and delicious. He takes the final biscuit, savouring it and sitting back with a contented sigh of satisfaction when he’s finished. 

“Does Molly Weasley not ensure you’re well-fed?” Snape gives Harry a quick once over and Harry tugs his jumper down a little, suddenly self-conscious. He has lost weight since the war, but he didn’t think it was that noticeable. It’s largely because he’s always flying and he can’t muster up much enthusiasm for cooking when he’s at home by himself in Grimmauld Place.

“She sends the odd lasagne.” Harry shrugs. He doesn’t fancy telling Snape he asked Molly to stop sending food when it began to feel as though he couldn’t be trusted to look after himself. “I can make my own meals these days.”

“Indeed?” Snape continues to watch Harry with that same dark stare, and the silence stretches between them.

In the interests of saying something – anything – Harry gestures to the newly sparkling window. “I understand why you didn’t do this if you’re busy with your research and potions, but why didn’t you just get a house-elf?”

“Not all of us have the money or influence to have our own house-elves, Potter.” Snape glares. “Besides, there’s more to the job than simply cleaning the windows.”

“Is there?” Harry looks around and takes in the haphazard stacks of books and the dusty jars. “Have you thought about changing the sign outside? You know, if you asked him, I bet Malfoy would give you an exclusive on his next book. People go mad for that stuff.”

“I’m not doing this simply for commercial gain.” Snape sounds irritated. “I have little interest in book signings and tawdry romance.”

“I don’t know, the odd tawdry romance isn’t so bad from time to time.” Harry’s horrified to find himself winking at Snape. _Winking_. Almost like some sort of horrible attempt to flirt. Which isn’t the case at all. Harry doesn’t like blokes and, if he did, he certainly wouldn’t like Snape. Not like that. Those ham and mustard sandwiches must have gone to his head.

Snape looks equally appalled. He snatches back Harry’s mug and plate, giving him another glare. “Back to work, Potter.”

“Fine.” Harry rolls his eyes and crawls back into the small window space, picking up his brush and cleaning the window as hard as he can, using the motions to scrub away any thought of what Snape might look like beneath his robes from his brain.

*

Harry’s pleased to discover that the job doesn’t just involve scrubbing the windows and tidying the window display. He waves in a family of six and enjoys watching Snape grapple with the indignity of having a small witch cling onto his hand and look at him as if he’s some kind of prickly hedgehog teddy bear as opposed to an irascible former Hogwarts professor. He amuses himself by locating a rare potions thesis from one of the highest shelves for a customer who clearly knows his stuff and spends a little too long chatting to Snape about the complexities of overusing Dreamless Sleep for Harry’s liking. Finally, as the day draws to a close he tidies away the bucket and other items, venturing behind the till and knocking on the open door to Snape’s quarters.

“Snape? It’s five thirty.”

“I’m aware of the time, thank you.” Snape emerges, wiping his hands on a cloth.

“Can I put this somewhere?” Harry holds up the bucket and Snape contemplates him for a moment before stepping to one side, waving Harry through.

Harry tries to ignore the shiver of delight which passes through his body as he walks past Snape. He takes in the small living room with its cosy fire and lingers in the doorway, breathing in the scent of wood burning and the familiar musk of Snape’s cologne. He has the strangest desire to burrow into the lumpy looking sofa and just spend a while longer in Snape’s company. He’s not quite ready for the four walls and screaming portraits of Grimmauld Place just yet.

“There’s a cupboard under the sink.” 

“Right, got it.” Harry continues through the house and locates the sink, putting the cleaning products away carefully after rinsing out the bucket. Although the space is small, it’s surprisingly comfortable. It’s homely, with its mugs up on the mug rack and a couple of copper saucepans hanging from the ceiling. The tiles are a warm terracotta and the kitchen cupboards are light oak. There’s a small table – just the right size for two people to sit at for breakfast – with an open bottle of wine in the centre and a couple of candles flickering. A half-finished crossword is out on the table and Harry can’t resist taking a peek.

“Appleby.”

“I’m sorry?” Snape doesn’t exactly exude warmth but he doesn’t boot Harry out immediately, which is a start. “What _are_ you wittering on about now?”

“Six down, the Quidditch player for the Harpies. It’s Appleby.”

Snape snatches the paper from Harry’s hand and then lets out a huff. “Inane question.”

“Still, that should give you some clues.” Harry grins at Snape, who doesn’t return his smile. Instead he looks almost confused, when his eyes meet Harry’s. 

“I suppose you expect me to offer you a drink?” Snape sounds aggravated and a flush of pleasure sends heat to Harry’s cheeks.

He didn’t expect anything of the sort, but he’s not about to say as much. “If I’m not intruding.”

“Of course you’re intruding, you impertinent child.” Snape gets another glass nevertheless and pours a generous measure of wine into each. After watching Harry for a moment longer, he pinches the bridge of his nose before gesturing towards the living room. “Go on, then. You might as well have the nose around you’ve been dying to have since you got here. You know where the sitting room is.”

Before Snape can change his mind, Harry takes his wine and makes his way into the living room. The space is just as warm and cosy as it looked. He browses the shelves and picks out a book, thumbing through the pictures, his throat tightening when he focuses on the content. On every page is one new picture after another. Gorgeous, black and white depictions of the male body caught in a timeless dance. He looks at the arched torsos and flexing thighs and the way on some pages the men come together in dance, caught beneath a solitary Muggle spotlight. It’s _beautiful_. There’s something haunting about it, but the pictures also make Harry’s insides twist in a peculiar way, his heart beating and his body flushing with heat. The sound of Snape clearing his throat startles Harry and he turns quickly, trying not to spill his wine.

“I wasn’t snooping.”

“Yes you were.” Snape doesn’t sound displeased, his lips twitching as he eyes the book in Harry’s hand. “Did you find anything of interest?”

“No.” Harry puts the book back hurriedly, a million questions running through his mind. His cheeks are still hot and his skin burns as Snape continues to watch him with barely concealed amusement. “It’s a nice book.” _Merlin_ , he sounds like a right prat. It’s a load of half-naked blokes dancing and – in some cases – snogging. Nice is completely the wrong word. Harry swallows a generous gulp of his wine in an effort to calm himself.

“I heard about the unfortunate ending to your tryst with Miss Weasley.” Snape approaches Harry and, for a moment, Harry thinks he’s going to press him against the bookshelf or brush his hair from his face, with those long, sure fingers. Instead, Snape simply reaches past Harry and turns the book the correct way up. He moves away as swiftly as he approached, taking a seat on the sofa. 

“Oh, that.” Harry pulls a face and sits gingerly next to Snape, keeping plenty of space between them. “Yeah. It wasn’t working out.”

“No?” Snape sounds almost interested, which can’t be the case. “How…unfortunate.”

“It’s fine, we’re mates.” Harry shrugs and he swirls his wine in his glass, watching the liquid slide around the polished glass.

“And there has been no one since?”

“Nope.” Harry wonders why Snape’s so interested in his love life all of a sudden. He nods towards the book shelf and then meets Snape’s gaze. “Is that what you like?”

“ _That_?” Snape snorts softly. “Yes, Potter. I appreciate ballet and Muggle photography. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Not really,” Harry mutters. He gives Snape a look. “I thought you were in love with my mum.”

Snape rolls his eyes, sipping his wine. “I’m sure you did. Your wilful teenage impulses are hardly likely to understand the complexities of love in all its forms.”

“I’m not a teenager.” Harry grits his teeth. He’s nineteen, so it’s not exactly true, but he’s going to be twenty soon and Snape doesn’t need to be such a prat about it. He makes it sounds like Harry’s thirteen or something.

“Perhaps you believe your experience renders you older than your years?” Snape watches Harry, sipping his wine. “To me, you seem as young as ever.”

“Oh.” Harry frowns, because that really doesn’t sound like a compliment. “And you’re as annoying as ever. You always talk in riddles. Why can’t you just tell the truth for once, instead of avoiding the question?”

“You asked if I was in love with your mother and I told you I was not, at least not in the way you presume.” Snape held Harry’s gaze and barely suppressed magic thrums restlessly in Harry’s veins. “Is there any other question I haven’t answered to your satisfaction?”

Harry rolls his eyes. He’s warm and he wouldn’t mind a second glass of wine. He’s not going to get into a debate with Snape over semantics. “Fine, you win.”

“What concern is it of yours, if I am fond of _that_ in any event?” Snape glances back at the book on the shelf to make his line of thought clear. “Is there something on your mind other than photography and ballet, perhaps?”

Harry swallows, because once a Gryffindor always a Gryffindor. He steels himself against an angry tirade and he nods, just once. He’s careful not to take his eyes from Snape and he feels rather like he’s facing a Hippogriff – making tentative movements to avoid being clawed in the face. “I don’t know if I’m all that interested in witches. It’s something I’ve been thinking about.” The words leave him in a rush because it’s the first time he’s said as much out loud. He’s spent so long insisting to himself it’s not true, he can’t believe the way saying the words lifts a heavy weight from his shoulders. The lightness of the dawning realisation makes him nearly giddy. 

“Is that so?” A flicker of something crosses Snape’s features and he lets out a quiet _hmm_ before returning to his wine. “What on earth could have prompted such soul-searching?”

Harry can’t say _because once I thought you were going to kiss me and I can’t stop thinking about how much I wanted you to_ , even though it’s largely true. He questioned his inclinations when he wasn’t interested in taking things to the next stage with Ginny, but he always felt that could have been down to all manner of things, not least the impact of the war on his emotional state. When thoughts of Snape refused to leave his mind, however, he had to think about the whys and wherefores of that surprising revelation. The war has nothing to do with the way his dreams about Snape leave him hard and restless in a way kisses with Ginny never could. He definitely appreciates the male form more than he appreciates any witch. He’s been devouring Malfoy’s Auror Jacques series and that’s not because Malfoy’s a good writer. It’s more down to the fact that Jacques and his arch-nemesis Godric tend to end their fights with the kind of raunchy sex scene that leaves Harry flushed and a little bit breathless. Not that he’d ever tell anyone that, of course. _Ever_.

“A few things.” Harry shrugs, deliberately evasive. He glances at Snape. “I thought you might understand.”

Snape turns his eyes heavenward before giving Harry a loaded look. “Yes, Potter. I understand. Does that answer your question?”

It does, but having it confirmed sends a shiver of anticipation down Harry’s spine. He can’t stop the smile creeping across his face because just because Snape’s gay it definitely doesn’t mean he’s interested in Harry. Somehow, though, he can’t help but smile as warm pleasure settles over him like a blanket. He _knew_ it. 

“Yeah. It does.”

Snape sniffs and stands, giving Harry one final look. “Very well. I suppose you want another glass of wine?”

“I would. I mean, yes please.” Harry’s stomach grumbles and he gives Snape a sheepish look.

When Snape returns, he’s carrying a fresh glass and a small plate of delicious looking sandwiches. 

Harry watches the fire and settles into the small, lumpy sofa, feeling more content than he has in a long time.

*

Sunday passes much as Saturday did, with a glass of wine and an hour or so together after Snape shuts up shop for the day. By the time the week passes and Saturday rolls round, Harry’s almost bouncing on his way to the coffee shop. He gets two coffees – he’s decided he quite likes the taste after all – and pushes open the door to the shop as the bell lets out a familiar jangle on entry.

“Morning! I know you said I’m not to talk before coffee, but I thought you might want to know that-”

Harry stops when Snape emerges from the back room, the look on his face thunderous. “What’s the meaning of this?” Snape drops the _Prophet_ on the desk, pointing at the headline news.

“I haven’t seen it yet. What’s Skeeter on about this time?” A sense of trepidation creeps over Harry as he twists the paper to read it properly. It’s his face, smiling back at him. He looks young and happy, dressed formally with various medals pinned to his tunic. It’s the photograph they took during the Ministry Awards Ceremony. When he sees the headline, his blood runs cold.

_Potter’s Hidden Power_

_Boy Hero leaves Aurors hanging as rumours circulate about Potter’s “inability to control” newly acquired magical prowess._

Harry swallows, his throat dry. He skims the article where “unnamed but reliable sources” speculate about his mental state and the odd demonstration of magical skills far beyond his usual power. The article speculates about a transference of ‘Dark Magic’ and, just at the end, includes a blurred picture of Harry going into Snape’s shop. 

_What do former Death Eater Severus Snape and Harry Potter have to be so chummy about these days? We wouldn’t like to speculate, but we suggest the Ministry keep a close eye on these two over the coming months. If Potter has taken a liking to Dark wizards, this doesn’t bode well for any of us._

“I’m sorry.” Harry’s words come out croaky and flat. The numbness which seeps through his bones these days returns and a wave of tiredness crashes over him. Of course the bloody newspapers would ruin the one thing that’s made him start to feel half normal. He sees the anger flashing in Snape’s eyes and he steels himself against it. He turns the paper over so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore. “I’ll go. You didn’t ask to be dragged into this circus. Christ.” His hands shaking, magic sparking through him, the potions bottles teeter a little precariously. He can’t breathe. His cheeks flush hot and he yanks open the door to let in the cool winter air. He’s about to leave the shop when a growl stops him in his tracks and the door slams shut. 

“You idiotic little twit.” Snape murmurs a spell which locks the door and he yanks Harry back, turning him until they’re pressed together against the door. “Did I tell you to leave? I didn’t expect you of all people to give up after one article. You have commitments. A _job_.”

Harry tries to steady himself, the sinewy strength of Snape against him making his heart quicken. He meets Snape’s eyes, which are dark and stormy, a humourless laugh bursting from his lips. “You gave me the job because there wasn’t any alternative. I’m on trial, you said. You don’t want me here, you made that pretty bloody clear from the outset. Besides, you’re obviously angry, I’m not going to stay here and give you another reason to tell me what an idiot I am.”

Snape’s snarl leaves his lips and his hand rests beside Harry’s head, pinning him rather effectively in place. “I’m not accustomed to inviting _idiots_ to join me for wine and conversation, although at times you can be an ignorant fool. If I didn’t want you here, I could have turned you away when you first came through the door. If I’m _angry_ it’s because of your arrogant assumption that the problems you’re having with your magic are not woefully obvious to anyone with half a brain. Where’s your spirit gone, Potter? You’re hiding yourself away in the shadowy corners of my shop – a scrawny runt of a thing with all your fight and fire left somewhere on a field in Scotland.”

“I’m not a _runt_ , you pillock. I fly a lot and you’re confusing my lost spirit with trying to get to know you – trying to be polite. I don’t know why I bother.” Harry tugs at his jumper, Snape’s description sending a stab of pain through his chest. Of course Snape thinks Harry’s too thin and quiet these days. Stupid, to think Snape might have understood his struggles in the aftermath of the war. “I’m able to look after myself, you don’t need to worry about my spirit.”

“Don’t I?” Snape glares at Harry. “You arrive here looking as if you’ve just rolled out of bed with dark circles under your eyes and you expect me to feed you because you are quite clearly incapable of looking after yourself!” Snape’s words seem to take him by surprise and Harry’s cheeks flame with a rush of heat and anger which courses through his body. They’re both breathing hard and Harry can’t bring himself to say anything with Snape looking at him like that. Like he’s pained. As if it hurts to meet Harry’s gaze head on. “Where do you plan to go? Back to that large, empty home of yours to wallow in self-pity for another year?”

“I’ll go anywhere. I don’t care. Leave the country probably.” Harry’s reminded of being back in the classroom and he twists his hands in Snape’s robes, not even trying to make it look like he’s pushing him away this time. He just wants to cling on to something and Snape is solid, warm and looking at him with the kind of fiery intensity that takes Harry’s breath away. “I just want it to be over. I want it to stop. I want to stop feeling.”

“There’s a word for someone who no longer feels, Potter.” Snape presses Harry closer to the door, their bodies fusing shoulder to toe. “Dead. Do you think that we risked our lives just to have you slink off into obscurity without making anything of yourself? A poor way to reward us, those who threw themselves recklessly in the path of substantial danger precisely so you could live the kind of life you seem so keen to flagrantly disregard.”

_A fine way to repay them._

Harry’s reminded of Remus’ words to him all those years ago and a deep shame claws at him. It _hurts_ , making his skin hot and his throat sore. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until he tastes the unexpected salt on his lips and feels the hot tracks of his tears cool on his hot cheeks as the air in the room shivers around them. His veins flood with magic and the air around them seems to shake with the intensity of it. It’s as if he’s got a stars inside him and they’re imploding one by one. Before he can say anything further he’s stopped by the warm, violent energy of Snape’s lips against his own. With a groan he yanks Snape closer, pressing as close as he can and opening his mouth to the demanding kiss. There’s nothing gentle about it and Snape knows how to kiss. He gathers Harry in strong, slender arms and holds him close to his chest, demanding more from him with every hard, deep kiss. With his lips, Snape seems to pull the darkest, most vengeful aspects of Harry’s magic from him until it’s a warm pleasure thrumming through his body and they’re panting into one another’s mouths, hands roaming and tugging at clothing. When Snape’s slim fingers slide under Harry’s jumper, he lets out a low moan of pleasure and tips his head back against the door. He’s so hard, it aches. His grief dissipates and he focuses on the sensation of Snape’s fingers stroking his trembling torso; a shiver passes through the length of his body at the light touch.

“S-Snape-”

“ _Severus_.” Snape – Severus – mouths his name along the column of Harry’s throat, every kiss and caress making him shiver. His legs feel as though they’re going to buckle beneath his weight. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before – assaulted by dizzying kisses and a confident, maddening touch to his overheated skin.

“Harry…” Severus’ voice is hoarse and it’s like nothing Harry’s heard before. The loss of the warm, distracting lips makes Harry groan and he flushes under the heat in Severus’ stare. His eyes are so dark but there’s an unexpected warmth in the way he looks at Harry – a possessive, dark flash of desire crossing his usually implacable features. It’s so good it makes Harry melt back against the door and tug Severus closer to him, until they’re breathing the same air.

“Don’t stop. Why have you stopped?” Harry rocks against Severus, his breath catching when Severus pushes his thigh between Harry’s legs. _Merlin_ , that’s good. Harry’s nearly dizzy with want, his fingers working open Severus’ buttons until Severus stills his hands, making Harry huff with indignation.

“I believe the Wizarding world at large will understand if my shop remains closed for a little while longer.” Severus steps back from Harry, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I also think I would prefer to take this away from the prying eyes of the magical lenses of the _Prophet_ photographers, before Skeeter starts telling the world I’ve seduced you for some nefarious purpose of my own.” He taps the small, dusty square of window beside Harry’s head. 

“Oh! Okay.” Harry grins at Severus and he captures his lips in another quick kiss, pulling back before he can distract himself further. “Where do you want me?”

Severus murmurs something under his breath and pinches his nose. He takes a deep breath and then waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the back rooms. 

Harry doesn’t need to be asked twice. He makes his way quickly through the shop and waits for Severus to follow.

*

“Here you are.” Severus takes longer than Harry expected and he gives Harry a look as Harry kicks off his shoes and begins to pull off his socks.

Harry looks around the small, clean room with a mercifully decent sized bed and shrugs at Severus. “Where else would I be? You said we were opening late. You wanted to _take it elsewhere_.”

“It’s nice to see a bit of that bold, Gryffindor spirit returning.” Severus snorts and he pushes himself off the door. “I thought perhaps a cup of tea and a conversation in the living room might be called for.”

“You did?” Harry’s cheeks heat and he looks at the socks in his hands, clearing his throat. “I just assumed…”

“No matter.” Severus takes the socks from Harry’s hand and drops them on the floor by Harry’s shoes, before slipping off his robes to reveal a light black jumper and trousers. He takes off his own shoes and socks, placing them neatly, and pushes up the sleeves of his jumper before approaching Harry and pushing him gently back on the bed, moving over him. “The thought of tea and small talk seems far less appealing at the moment.” His clever fingers push underneath Harry’s jumper and slide over his torso, making Harry shiver again. This time, Severus doesn’t stop at stroking his fingers over Harry’s stomach. Instead he pushes the jumper up and Harry tugs it over his head, arranging himself back on the pillows so Severus can settle between his legs and kiss him again.

The kisses are different like this. The initial dizzying desire is still there, but this time it feels more adult. They’re not just snogging against a door and running their hands over one another over thick layers of clothes. Instead Harry’s naked from the waist up and the hot, thick length of Severus is hard against him. He bites his bottom lip and arches up to rub himself against Severus. He expects Severus has done this plenty of times before and he probably expects to fuck Harry. He’s not even sure what to expect. Maybe he wants Harry to fuck him. Perhaps he thinks Harry knows what he’s doing. The thoughts race through Harry’s mind, until Severus brushes Harry’s hair from his forehead and breaks their kiss.

“Something on your mind, Potter?”

“I’m just not sure what you want to do.” Harry winces at the rough, throaty edge to his voice. “I’ve not…done a lot of this.”

“Is that so?” Severus doesn’t sound particularly surprised, his thumb brushing over Harry’s nipple as he runs his lips down the column of Harry’s throat. “I’m not planning to bugger you senseless, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” He gives Harry a wicked half-smile. “Not yet, in any event.”

The heat travels from Harry’s chest to his cheeks and he gives Severus a look. “I’m not worrying.”

“Good.” Severus captures Harry’s lips again and it’s not long before the kisses take Harry back to the place of blissful pleasure, his body hot and needy as he moves against Severus. The worries disappear from his mind entirely with each new, soul-searching kiss. The magic thrums through his veins but there’s something strange about it now. It’s not the violent, uncontrollable itch beneath his skin. With every kiss, the power of Severus’ own magic mingles with Harry’s own and it feels _controlled_. Even when every other part of Harry is completely out of control, bucking and squirming against Severus, his magic is a powerful but manageable force which heightens every flick of Severus’ tongue against his skin and every stroke of his fingers over Harry’s restless body.

“Please…” Harry’s voice is breathless and rough as he arches into Severus’ touch, everything feeling so _alive_ he never wants to leave this place of warmth and arousal. 

“ _Harry_.” Severus doesn’t sound exactly in control of himself either, Harry’s name spilling from his lips with a reverence that takes Harry by surprise. He groans when Severus’ fingers work open his belt and he sucks in a breath when Severus’ hand wraps around his aching cock. He tugs Severus into another deep kiss and it doesn’t take much – the intensity of the magic running through his body and the deep, searching kisses already pushing him right to the edge. It’s embarrassingly quick – a few tugs on Harry’s cock and he’s spilling himself into Severus’ hand with a low, throaty groan of pleasure. The magic pulses through him with his orgasm and his heart skitters and jumps in his chest, Severus’ name falling from his lips.

When he comes to, Severus is watching him with an amused smile. “Did I…?”

“Faint? Possibly.” Severus sounds unbelievable smug and Harry glares at him.

“I did not. It was the magic.” Despite his having just come, everything feels clean and soft and there are traces of Severus’ magic which prickle pleasantly against his skin. “I definitely didn’t faint.”

“Whatever you say.” Severus brushes Harry’s hair from his face, his fingers lingering over the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Now, are you sufficiently sated to talk?”

“Maybe.” Harry wriggles close to Severus, the unmistakeable heat of Severus hard against his thigh. “But you’re not.”

“Hmm.” Severus arches his eyebrow as though surprised and Harry pushes him back, moving over him. He rubs his fingers against his forehead when Harry moves between his legs, working open his trousers. His voice is low and rough when he speaks. “What…what in the name of Merlin are you doing?”

“Blowing you.” Harry looks up from his task of working open Severus’ trousers. He’s pretty sure that’s something Severus should like. Not that he’s had any experience of it, but the thought of a hot mouth around his cock is…yeah. _Good_. “If that’s okay?”

Severus mutters a curse under his breath, his voice faint. His lips press together and he nods, his eyes boring into Harry. 

Taking a breath, Harry finally releases Severus from the confines of his trousers. It’s strange, being this close to another person’s prick. He never thought it would cause a rush of arousal through his veins. Severus is thick, long and hard. It’s unexpected and the thought of the things Severus might want to do to him send a shiver through Harry’s body which causes his magic to flip and pulse. Severus strokes his hand through Harry’s hair, his voice low and warm.

“Take your time.”

Harry looks up at Severus, forcing the erratic magic down, down, down. “I’m just…thinking about things.”

Severus closes his eyes, his breath leaving him in a surprising shudder of pleasure. “I can only imagine.”

“Yeah, well.” Harry feels a strange sense of pride worming through him. Severus has books filled with beautiful men, but he’s clearly happy enough to have Harry in his bed. More than happy, in fact. His breathing falters as Harry licks over the tip of his cock and his pleasure leaves him in a low groan. Harry does his best. He really does. He licks the length of Severus and savours the salty tip of him. He works his mouth over Severus’ cock and he meets Severus’ eyes for a moment, which makes Severus jut up into his mouth with a whisper of something Harry can’t catch. He savours the heat of Severus in his mouth, moving slowly over the length of him. When he can’t take all of Severus inside his mouth, he wraps his hand around the base of Severus’ cock and uses it to guide his movements. It pulls a hiss of pleasure from Severus, who gives Harry the same dark look, pleasingly undone. Harry’s sure Severus has had better. He’s probably had more experienced people in his bed, but there’s something about the way Severus looks at Harry that makes him think he doesn’t mind Harry’s inexperience at all. Besides, Harry’s always been a quick learner when it comes to things he’s really interested in – like flying – and he’d _definitely_ interested in this. The strangeness of being this intimate with Severus – with _Snape_ \- dissipates quickly. It feels oddly right, as if Harry’s exactly where he should be. He listens for every hitch of Severus’ breathing and works his tongue just so when Severus arches lightly beneath him, his breathing becoming more ragged and laboured. Gods, it feels good just to feel Severus come apart beneath him. It makes Harry slide his hand over Severus’ torso, up under his jumper. He can feel the light bumps of scar tissue but he doesn’t pull his hand away when Severus seems to falter. Instead he rubs his fingers over every inch of Severus’ hot skin, sinking down onto him again and wanting to give him every pleasure.

“Harry…I…” Severus’ voice is rough and hoarse, his fingers giving Harry’s hair a light tug.

Harry looks up and nods as best he can, before sinking back over Severus. He wants to taste him. He wants to feel Severus reach completion in his mouth and savour every last bit. He puts every effort into making Severus feel good until Severus pulses into Harry’s mouth, gripping his hair and arching into his throat.

“ _Harry_.”

Harry wipes his mouth and shifts up so he’s eye-to-eye with Severus. “It was okay?”

“More than.” Severus still sounds a bit all over the place, his voice unusually rough. He pushes his hand through the strands of Harry’s hair, which must be warm and sticky and utterly unpleasant. “You have no idea how…compelling you are.”

“No, probably not. Being a scrawny runt of a thing who looks like he’s rolled out of bed in the morning.” Harry rolls his eyes and finds a spot on Severus’ chest which is extremely comfortable. He’s content, until Severus tugs his hair lightly again. His voice is slow, smooth and it pushes its way into the depths of Harry’s body.

“You are aware of how sinfully attractive you are, I assume?” There’s another _tug, tug_ at Harry’s hair.

Harry’s cheeks heat, warmth sliding through his veins like treacle. “Should I be?”

Severus purses his lips. He pulls Harry into the kind of bone-shaking kiss that doesn’t leave much room for doubt. When Severus pulls back, his hands are still clutching Harry’s hair. “Yes. You infernal child.”

“Okay.” Harry’s never been great at taking compliments about his appearance, but he’s certainly not going to argue when Severus looks at him like that. The thought that Severus finds him attractive makes him so warm, he’s certainly not going to question the whys and wherefores. It’s enough for him that Severus _does_. Enough that Harry has the ability to leave Severus sounding gruff, hoarse and like he’s coming apart at the seams. He stretches out when Severus flicks his wand and murmurs a spell which leaves them both completely naked. He snorts with laughter. “Are we opening the shop today?”

Severus’ lips twitch into a smile. He runs his hand down Harry’s back, ducking his head to mouth distractingly at Harry’s neck. “Perhaps. I’m not in any particular rush.”

“Those potions commissions must be making you a fortune.” 

“They suffice.” Severus’ fingers stroke down Harry’s spine, making him shiver. “What made you come here looking for work?”

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugs, feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time. “I couldn’t get this feeling out of my head that you might understand. I haven’t been sleeping much since the war and then there was the weird thing with my magic going a bit all over the place. I thought I’d get over it, but I didn’t.”

“Indeed?” Severus sounds surprised, his hand stilling in Harry’s hair as he hums thoughtfully. “Was there any particular reason you thought I might welcome you with open arms?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “I didn’t think you’d do anything of the sort. It just seemed important to try.”

“Well.” Severus is quiet and Harry can almost hear the cogs of his mind working. “I have a theory about your magic.”

“You do?” Harry looks up.

“Yes.” Severus brushes his thumb against Harry’s lip, watching him closely. “It’s not unusual for some witches and wizards coming of age to find their magic is somewhat more unstable than usual, but more often than not it happens during their school years when the staff can assist and supervise. I believe a combination of trying to suppress instead of use your newly acquired powers and spending the year away from Hogwarts where someone might have been able to assist, have culminated in an erratic kind of magic which you simply need to learn how to channel properly. Grief and isolating yourself will have made the imbalance more potent.”

“I knew there was a reason I came here.” Harry rubs his cheek against Severus’ chest and he’s rewarded with a light snort. 

“Aside from turning my place of work upside down and encouraging me to lounge around in bed all day?”

Harry smiles against Severus’ skin, knowing not to take Severus too seriously. “Apart from that. Why is it just me, though?” He swallows, finally voicing the thought which has been playing on his mind since the war. “I thought it was because of Voldemort. Because of our…connection.”

Severus shakes his head. “I am not one to believe in coincidences but, in this case, I believe the timing was just that. Your experiences during the war have left you isolated in a way others are not and I believe your fear of the shift in your magic has simply led to the instability becoming more exacerbated.”

A wave of relief crashes over Harry, his heart soaring. He’s _not_ come back wrong from that strange place between life and death. It’s just growing up. “How do I learn to control it, then?”

Severus clears his throat. “There are several ways. I could, perhaps, assist. You simply have to _use_ your magic and find a place where you are comfortable embracing and learning to control the full force of it.”

Harry’s lips curve into a grin and he meets Severus’ gaze. “If I had sex, it might help me relax and let go a bit.”

“Impertinent brat.” Severus doesn’t sound cross. He sounds almost fond, bright pink spots blooming in his cheeks. 

“Just a suggestion.” The bed is warm and Harry’s starting to feel the steady tug of arousal again, deep in his belly. The warmth of Severus’ fingers sliding down his spine sends shivers of pleasure through his body and he already feels immeasurably more relaxed. “You don’t let me use magic when you’re brewing stuff.” Harry brushes his lips against Severus’ chest and he’s delighted at the huff of breath which the movement pulls from Severus’ lips. “You’re not brewing anything now…”

“No.” Severus mutters something under his breath and then turns Harry so he’s on his back, naked and under the full heat of Severus’ gaze. “I appear to have misled you somewhat if you believe getting fucked is going to help.”

“I think it could help quite a bit, actually.” Emboldened by the way Severus looks at him, Harry rocks up so Severus can’t miss his growing arousal. “I thought about this for a long time.”

“You did?” Severus seems surprised, stilling and contemplating Harry with a combination of surprise and suspicion. “Why on earth would you do that?”

Harry shrugs, brushing his fingers over the mark left by Nagini on Severus’ neck. “Because shouting at you was the only thing that felt normal. I couldn’t get the idea of our last row ending differently out of my head.”

Severus looks away, his lips twisting. “Is that so? An itch, perhaps, you wanted to scratch.”

Harry frowns, because maybe that’s part of it but it’s definitely not all of it. He nudges Severus, urging him to look at Harry properly again. “Not really. I don’t think we’re all that different.”

Severus snorts. “I can assure you we are.”

“In some ways, maybe.” Harry leans up to kiss Severus slowly. It feels _good_ being able to do that without worrying about being pushed away. He wants to do it a lot more, he decides. “We both lived with the war for years. It’s taken up so much time. Don’t you think it might be nice to find out what else is out there now the war’s over?”

Severus’ lips twitch. “Do you mean we should embark on wild adventures, flying our brooms around the world and exploring exotic beaches? I am older than you, Harry. I’m quite content with my potions and books, as peculiar as that might seem to you. I have my little corner of the world and, as dusty and quiet as it may be, I am quite content.”

Harry thinks about the cosy living room and how he felt so calm there – so comfortable and warm in front of the glowing fire. He rather likes the books. Even the boring, dusty ones that Severus makes him get down from the very top of the tallest bookcases in the shop sometimes.

“I think I’d be content with that too.” Harry pulls a face. “Not chopping flobberworms or anything.”

“Heaven forbid,” Severus replies, faintly.

“I just mean I like it here. I like having coffee with you and eating your sandwiches.”

“You enjoy eating me out of house and home, you mean.”

“I like the glasses of wine and our chats.”

“Inane though most of your opinions are.”

“I like _you_ , even though you don’t make it all that easy.” Harry’s glaring now, huffing as he watches Severus. “Do you have to be such an arse? I’m trying to be nice.”

“You’re being appallingly sentimental.” Severus doesn’t sound annoyed, however. He’s giving Harry the strange look he does sometimes – as if Harry’s taken him by surprise or caught him unawares. 

“Perhaps.” Harry reaches for Severus and tugs him down into a heart-stopping kiss. When he can finally form words, he murmurs against Severus’ lips. “Why don’t you shut me up, then?”

With a low growl, Severus pushes Harry firmly back onto the mattress, sliding his hand over Harry’s torso. He presses firm kisses to Harry’s neck and makes his way lower, his breathing rough. “You really are quite…” He pauses, as if he doesn’t want the word to leave his mouth. He shakes his head and continues his assault on Harry’s senses – every kiss leaving his body tingling and his head spinning. “What do you want from me?” Severus asks.

“Everything.” Harry meets Severus’ gaze, his own voice rough. He’s not sure he’s talking about sex anymore and Severus seems to appreciate that.

“I see.” Severus pushes Harry’s legs apart, tracing the inside of Harry’s thigh with a small pattern. “I am not a man who enjoys one night stands or casual encounters.”

“Nor me,” Harry replies.

Severus raises his eyebrows before reaching over Harry, opening the drawer and extracting a small bottle. He sits back between Harry’s legs, watching him closely. 

“And how exactly have you reached that conclusion?” 

Harry shrugs, trying to imagine Severus with anyone else. The thought makes his magic spark against his skin and the window panes rattle a little. “Sorry.”

“No matter.” Severus brushes Harry’s leg, contemplating him. “You’re distracted again.”

“Thinking about you with another bloke.” Harry frowns at Severus. “I don’t like the idea much.” 

“Ah.” Severus looks almost pleased, his eyes dark as he strokes his fingers over Harry’s skin, soothing him again. “Well, if it’s any consolation, there are no other wizards.”

“Just me, then.”

Severus nods. “Just you.”

He uncorks the small bottle and slicks his fingers, the sight making Harry’s breathing hitch. _Oh_. He’s done a bit of research, of course. He’s spent a few more hours than he’d like to remember thinking about Severus’ fingers and that dark, shadowy figure whose face he never quite saw. Sometimes he told himself they were genderless but he knew better, in his heart. He’d read another racy story about Auror Jacques and Godric and he’d fall asleep sweaty and sated with Severus’ name on his lips.

“Did you ever read those racy books of Malfoy’s?” Harry tries to keep his voice even, which is difficult with Severus rubbing his fingers slowly back between his buttocks. Severus stills and mutters a curse under his breath, giving Harry a look.

“I receive the latest every Christmas. Personally signed.” Severus rolls his eyes. “Is there any reason you’re asking me? _Now_?”

“I thought about you sometimes. When I read them.” Harry’s a bit breathless now and Severus starts moving his slick fingers again. “I thought about you a lot actually, even though half the time I thought I could pretend it was somebody else.”

“Why?” Severus moves over Harry, brushing their lips together and murmuring against his lips. The touch of his fingers really is driving Harry mad, making his body tremble and need pool in his stomach. “Should I be offended?”

“No!” Harry huffs out a half-laugh, half groan. “Merlin, no. I just…I wasn’t ready to admit it. Liking men. I’ve only ever said it to you, when I saw that book of yours.”

“I see.” Severus slowly pushes a finger into Harry and the steady, sure movement makes Harry whimper. “Am I convincing you of the merits of coming out of that closet of yours?”

“Yeah…I think… _yeah_.” Harry does moan this time, when Severus rubs his finger over a spot inside him which sends pleasure flowing through his body. He kisses Severus deeply, panting slightly into his mouth as Severus adds another finger. “Will you…will you fuck me?”

Severus pulls back for a moment, watching Harry. He nods, when Harry gives him what he hopes is a sufficiently pleading look. With a murmur of Harry’s name, he begins to finger Harry slowly again. He captures Harry’s lips in a searing kiss and takes his time working Harry open. By the time Severus slicks his cock, Harry’s a trembling, eager mess. He’s desperate to feel Severus inside him and his whole body sparks with pleasure. He’d never thought fingers and a clever tongue could feel so good in the most unexpected of places. It’s not even just the physical sensations. There’s something that feels so right about being like this with Severus. It should be awkward or weird looking at one another’s cocks or sucking, licking and tasting in all the wrong kind of places. Instead it feels perfect. Severus continues to make the odd barbed comment and Harry teases him until they’re both laughing lightly. Harry can’t help but respond to Severus’ kisses with an obedience that seems to take them both by surprise. He loves being kissed into a willing submission by Severus’ forceful, demanding lips against his own. He wants Severus so much he can hardly breathe when he thinks about it too hard.

Eventually, Severus settles properly over Harry and pushes inside him. The stretch burns at first but Severus whispers Harry’s name over and over until he settles. Then it’s just blissful fucking – Severus pushing deep inside Harry and Harry kissing Severus until they’re both coming undone. 

“Hey, Severus?” Harry’s voice is heavy with sleep after they finish and Severus whispers a few charms which warm Harry’s skin and leave him clean and fresh.

“Harry.” Severus pulls Harry close and nuzzles him in a way which gives away something more of his affections than he probably realises.

“I might not be able to come into work today.” Harry snorts at his own joke, a sleepy smile stretching across his face. “Something came up.”

Severus tugs Harry’s hair, rearranging them both so Harry’s on Severus’ chest. Harry thinks he can feel Severus reaching for a book and he burrows down, so he can keep as close to Severus as possible. For someone so angular and bony he’s a surprisingly comfortable pillow.

“I think I can make allowances, just this once.”

“Severus?”

“Harry.”

“You’re not opening today at all, are you?”

Severus hums, his fingers working steadily through Harry’s hair. “I suspect not.”

“So we can do that again, then?”

“You have rather overestimated my abilities. Not all of us are blessed with youth and an insatiable sexual appetite.”

Harry hums into Severus’ chest, unable to stop the soft laughter which falls from his lips. 

He’s got a feeling Severus can probably be persuaded.

*

**One year later**

“The interview went well, I take it?”

“They don’t think we’re worshipping Voldemort’s old socks or anything anymore.” Harry tugs off his coat and drops it on the peg on the back of the shop door, tugging Severus close. “They know I’m worshipping something else instead.”

“I most certainly hope they _don’t_ know that.” Severus snorts and gives Harry’s backside a light swat. “Brat.”

“Hmm, maybe. I think Skeeter turned a bit green at one point.” Harry laughs against Severus’ lips. The magic hums steadily through his veins and now it’s warm and settled. When he has those maddening moments of erratic flares of power and his skin itches and burns, Severus always knows exactly how to calm Harry – usually in the most delicious, devious way.

“If my sex life features in tomorrow’s _Prophet_ , I can assure you I will not be pleased.” Severus gives Harry a look, before turning the sign to closed. 

“It’s only midday.”

“I’m closing for lunch.”

“You’re always closing for lunch these days. People are going to start getting their books elsewhere.”

“Let them. Besides, I’ve taken your advice.”

“You have?” Harry puts his hand over his chest and feigns a gasp. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, considering my distractions of late I thought I should capitalise on the fact Draco seems quite happy to promote his latest wares in the shop. We’re having a champagne reception on Wednesday.” Severus sounds thoroughly displeased at the thought.

“You’ll be playing host?” Harry grins and Severus scowls at him in response.

“I’ll be doing no such thing. I thought I would leave the social niceties to you, now our relationship is tabloid fodder.”

“I see.” Harry kisses Severus slowly and then worms his hand between them, rubbing his knuckles over the thick, hard heat encased in Severus’ trousers. He’s not sure he’ll ever get over the way his body floods with heat and pleasure when he thinks about Severus holding him down on the bed or pushing into him with fierce, possessive determination. “So, about this lunch break.”

“Sandwiches, Potter. Tea and sandwiches. I thought I could put my feet up after a long morning.”

“Is that right?” Harry snorts softly and pushes Severus against the door, murmuring a spell which darkens the windows and hides them from any prying eyes. He slides to his knees and begins to open Severus’ belt. “Sandwiches?”

“Hmm.” Severus tangles his hand in Harry’s hair nevertheless, watching him with a dark gaze and leaning back against the door. “I suppose they can wait for a moment or two.”

“Yes.” Harry grins, finally getting to his prize. “I reckon they can.”

“You really are the most infernal child.” Severus sounds almost fond as he says it and he continues to watch Harry with a dark stare which makes Harry’s body heat with desire and something else – something which worms its way into his heart and makes it beat more quickly when Severus is nearby. Something which sends sparks of pleasure through him when he looks up across a crowded room to find Severus watching him with a strange, almost surprised half-smile. It makes the ghosts recede and the cold nights warmer. The memories of the war are still there and still find their way into his dreams but this time when he wakes up, there are strong arms around him and the soothing sound of Severus’ voice murmuring his name.

_Harry, Harry, Harry._

Love. Harry knows it well enough by now to recognise it. Neither of them says it, but when Harry catches Severus watching him over the edge of his wine glass or sees the way he looks at Harry in bed when the mask falls for a moment, he knows Severus feels it too. He’s sure of it. He knows because he always has a cup of tea and jammie dodgers next to the bed at night and because Severus lets Harry fill in the Quidditch clues in the crossword these days. He knows because Severus keeps him around and even let them have one exotic beach adventure, which mainly involved finding out ways to get sand out of all kinds of places sand really shouldn’t be. He’s so sure of it, he doesn’t need the words. He doesn’t want to unsettle this routine they’ve got or the unexpected warmth of finding the thing he didn’t even really know he was looking for.

When he looks up at Severus, Harry thinks he already knows.

“You’re disconcertingly quiet.” Severus rubs his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip, taking in the sight of Harry on his knees.

“Just thinking.” Harry pushes down Severus’ trousers and works his hands over his thighs, leaning forward to taste him and breathe in the scent of him. “All good things.”

When he takes Severus into his mouth and meets his gaze again, he can see it in Severus’ eyes. That startled, intense expression. The momentary surprise as if he’s being looked at in a way he never expected – or a way he doesn’t think he deserves. So Harry keeps looking. He shows Severus everything he can and he takes Severus’ hand, placing his fingers against his temple as he pushes down over him. He hopes Severus knows what he’s asking.

“Harry…” Severus’ voice is rough and hesitant.

Harry pulls back for a moment, making Severus groan. “ _Please_. I want you to.”

With a low groan, Severus whispers the word as Harry takes him deep into his mouth once more. _Legilimens_. Harry knows Severus doesn’t need to say it out loud, but he will because it’s not the kind of thing to do wordlessly in case Harry’s request has been misunderstood. 

With a rush of pleasure, Harry lets Severus into his mind. It’s so unlike the last time, when he fought and railed against Severus with every breath. It’s not like that time when his mind was full of pain and grief he couldn’t control. There’s no anger or fear. Severus too, is different. He doesn’t invade with eager, grasping fingers. He doesn’t push at Harry’s defences until they hurt, or rummage, or gleefully or violently seek out something he can use to his advantage. Instead, the touch of his magic in Harry’s mind is careful and soft. It’s a caress and it’s unbelievably arousing. Harry groans as Severus does. He shows him how he sees Severus and lets him feel the warm, pulse of his heart until Severus pulls out slowly and pushes into Harry’s mouth with a low growl of pleasure, spilling down his throat. With a contented sigh, Harry pulls back slowly and sits on his heels. He pushes himself up when his legs aren’t wobbly anymore and when he does, Severus turns them so Harry’s against the door. He kisses Harry with such fierce desire, it takes Harry’s breath away.

“Bedroom.” Severus nearly growls against Harry’s lips, his voice rough and hard.

“I thought you were going to make sandwiches.” Harry gives Severus a grin and he ignores the scowl he gets in return.

“I have other things on my mind.”

“Such as?”

Severus smirks and he brushes his lips against Harry’s ear. “Such as having you stretched out and naked so I can explore every inch of your body until you’re shaking and begging to come in the way I do so enjoy.”

“Oh. That.” Harry shivers with pleasure and gives him a quick kiss. “Well you don’t have to tell me twice.”

He makes his way upstairs, discarding his clothes as he goes. There’s condensation on the small window panes and there’s a thin snow falling on the ground.

Inside, everything is warm.

**Author's Note:**

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